


Follow My Lead

by Irrevocably_Sherlocked



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Blow Jobs, Clubbing, Dirty Dancing, Idiots in Love, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 11:12:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5002561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrevocably_Sherlocked/pseuds/Irrevocably_Sherlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John knows he should be paying attention to the case, to the suspect’s movements, but, oh it's difficult to remember that fact with six feet of lanky detective draped around him. John decides for the moment just to let go, stop thinking. Sherlock had asked him to follow his lead, so John decides to do just that. He wants to dance with him? Then John will dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Follow My Lead

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to my beta [Hogwartswitch](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hogwartswitch/pseuds/hogwartswitch) for fixing my ever present 'tense' issues. (see what I did there?) :)
> 
> And to my biggest fan [Happierstill](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Happierstill) Thanks for always encouraging me!

The bass is a thumping, pulsating beat that sets John’s nerves into constant vibration. He and Sherlock came to the packed club in Soho for the purpose of tracking their latest suspect. The location is his usual hunting ground, and Sherlock hoped he could draw him out. John, as usual, followed his lead. So now here he stood at the edge of the crowded dance floor, beer in hand, the madcap genius consulting detective nowhere to be found.

Sherlock disappeared almost the minute they entered the place, muttering something about “alcoves” and “bartenders”, and left John to fend for himself. John tried to follow his path only to be swallowed by the burgeoning crowd, so with a shrug, he made his way to the bar. Three beers in and 45 minutes later, Sherlock still hasn’t returned and John is starting to get a bit concerned.

John looks over the sea of moving bodies, watching the undulations of couples and trios, moving in time with the heavy beat. It’s highly unlikely Sherlock is out here, but he scans anyway, his eyes searching for a tall, lithe figure, pale as moonlight with flouncy ebony curls. No such luck, and John is about to head back to the bar when he feels the man in question slide up behind him.

“There you are,” John says, turning to look up at Sherlock. “I was starting to think you’d run off.”

“Hmm. John. You see the man on the far side of the dance floor, the one all in black?” Sherlock hasn’t taken his eyes off the man in question.

John follows his gaze to the man. He is dressed, as Sherlock said, all in black, and the quality is immaculate, much higher end than most of the patrons in the noisy club. He is on the taller side, broad, with ashy blond hair, and on first glance he seems to fit the profile of the person they are looking for.

“You sure it’s him?”

Sherlock finally focuses on John for the first time since coming over. He lifts an eyebrow, “John.”

“Ok, right. What do we do then?” John asks. “Should I call Lestrade?”

“No, not yet. I need to get a bit closer without being noticed.” Sherlock looks at John, his pale green eyes locked onto John’s blue ones, pleading. “A favor, John? For me?”

Damn him, John thought. The bastard knows he can’t deny him anything when asked. “Fine, what do I do?”

“Just follow my lead.”

Sherlock grabs John’s arm, unfurling it from where it is crossed in front of his body, and leads him out into the throng, pulling him close. He begins to move, rhythmic movements of his hips, perfectly in time with the heavy bass pumping through the speakers. The erotic movement sends a surge of pure desire singing through John’s veins.

“What are you doing, then?” John asks, the start of a smirk forming on his face.

“Dancing, John. Do keep up.”

Without a word, Sherlock spins him around, pressing John’s back against his front, and turning them to face their suspect. Sherlock begins to move in earnest, rolling his hips, and shuffling them in tandem,  infinitesimally closer to the man with each step. John does his best to keep up, undulating his body in time with Sherlock, but his senses are on fire with the man pressed so intimately against him.

Sherlock’s hands rest on John’s hips as he leans down to murmur in his ear. “John, keep one eye on our suspect. We need to watch who he talks with.”

Sherlock’s voice in his ear and his hot breath on his neck cause a shiver to go down John’s spine. He is having trouble focusing on much beyond the sway of Sherlock’s lean hips or the heat of his body pressed behind him, but he nods nonetheless.  

They are moving deeper into the dance space now, and the crowd is thicker. Sherlock snakes his hands further around John’s waist and pulls him flush against his body, leaning his head on John’s shoulder. John reaches up with one hand and threads his fingers through Sherlock’s curls, and grips Sherlock’s thigh with his other hand, pulling their bodies impossibly closer. John smiles at the tiny gasp that escapes Sherlock’s lips at this. He gives his own answering gasp as he feels Sherlock’s hard length nestled snugly against him.

John knows he should be paying attention to the case, to the suspect’s movements, but, oh it's difficult to remember that fact with six feet of lanky detective draped around him. John decides for the moment just to let go, stop thinking. Sherlock had asked him to follow his lead, so John decides to do just that. He wants to dance with him? Then John will dance. He increases his movements, keeping pace with Sherlock, each incidental contact of their bodies causing his arousal to build. Let the git keep watch for a bit.

Sherlock shifts his head and presses his lips to John’s neck, light brushes across the nape, slowly making his way to the spot behind John’s ear. Ooh, damn him. John tilts his head to the side to allow Sherlock better access, and feels Sherlock smile against his skin.

“You’re supposed to be watching our man, John.”

“You’re distracting me”

“Mm.” Sherlock’s fingers dig harder into John’s waist as his thumbs lightly brush skin where his shirt has ridden up. John can’t suppress the tremble that goes through his body at that, each finger press like an electric current hardwired to his groin. Sherlock inches his fingers lower, dipping under the front waistband of John’s jeans. John gives a breathy moan, arching his back and grinding his backside harder into Sherlock’s groin.

“John.” Sherlocks voice has gone low and breathy, as his tongue comes out to swirl around John’s ear before sucking the lobe into his mouth. He is giving minute thrusts of his hips, so shallow no one near them would think it was anything more than two men clearly enjoying a dance, but each one rubs his hard length against the cleft of John’s arse. And it is driving him mad. John is about to tell Sherlock to sod the case and take him home right the fuck now.

Sherlock nuzzles lower, his mouth working at John’s collarbone, teeth gently grazing the skin. John is trying to keep his eyes trained on the man, but it is getting harder to concentrate on anything more than Sherlock and what he is doing with his mouth. Which ultimately leads to thoughts of what else he can do with that mouth, and John is now uncomfortably hard in his jeans.

Through their movements, they have managed to move closer to the edge of the dance floor. John can now see clearly their suspect. He is talking to a younger man, dark-haired, the two of them standing close in the crowded space. As John watches, their suspect reaches out and grabs the younger man’s arm, drawing him into his body. The other man doesn’t seem to protest, but if it is indeed their suspect...

“Sherlock, the case,” he manages to grate out.

Sherlock raises his head enough to take a look at the man in front of them. John waits to see what will happen now. Sherlock still is draped around him, his erection pressed into his arse, hands resting just inside the top of his jeans. He makes no move to remove himself from his position as he makes his deductions. Sherlock clears his throat.

“John. This is unfortunate.”

John throws his head back and looks up at Sherlock. “What are you planning?” John is trying to turn his brain back to the case, even with the feel of his lover’s body pressed tightly against him, but Sherlock’s next words stop him short. Words he never expected to hear falling from those gorgeous cupid bow lips.

“Ahem. It appears I was wrong.”

John is flabbergasted. “I’m sorry?” he asks, extricating himself from Sherlock’s grasp and turning to glare up at him.

“He isn’t the one committing the murders, John.”

“Great. So this has been a complete waste of time, then.”

“Mm, not a complete waste of time,” Sherlock purrs, drawing John closer and wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “I quite enjoyed our little dance.”

The music is still a thumping force, but the song is not as frantic as the previous selections. Sherlock presses his body closer, inserting a slim thigh between John’s and trailing his hands over John’s torso to rest on his hips. He begins to move again, erotic rolls of his body, and John can feel just how much Sherlock is enjoying this dance.

John would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying it himself. The feel of Sherlock’s form pressed against his own is intoxicating in private. Here in a public space, it lends a spike of danger to the proceedings, and that extra push makes his blood burn with the desire to do something unexpected and new.

“I’m starting to think there was no case, and you just wanted to get me out on the floor,” John says as he threads the fingers of his right hand through Sherlock’s curls, drawing his head down. He snakes his left around Sherlock’s slim hip to rest on his arse and squeezes, as he presses their lips together.

Sherlock melts into the kiss, opening his mouth to allow John access. John immediately deepens the kiss, licking into Sherlock’s mouth, then pulling back to suck that top lip between his teeth. John’s thumb lightly sweeps over Sherlock’s abdomen and smiles when he feels the shiver that touch causes.

“Don’t be ridiculous, John.” Sherlock is trying for haughty, but his face cracks at the end into the smile John knows is reserved just for him, his eyes alight with heat and mischief.

“Bastard.”

The beat has picked back up, and John goes along, picking up the pace a bit, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s torso to rest on his hips. He presses his lower body even closer to Sherlock’s, grinding down on his thigh as he moves in time. John leans up to press his mouth to Sherlock’s neck, sucking lightly at his adam’s apple, before nibbling his way up to press kisses at his jaw.

“John,” Sherlock sighs, reaching his hands back to caress John’s arse. He gives a roll of his hips, pressing his, now fully hard, erection against John’s thigh, and John moans at the sensation. They are now effectively grinding against each other on the open floor, a sea of dancing limbs their only cover. Sherlock turns his head to capture John’s mouth in a searing kiss. John quickly realizes he needs to be the sane one here, call things to a halt before he either comes in his pants right here on the dance floor, or some bouncer has to escort them out for bad behaviour. But God, Sherlock’s hands are like fire on his body, hot and seeking, and all he can think is that he wants him now.

“Sherlock. We, oh god, we need to stop. Home. now.”

Sherlock leans down and whispers in John’s ear, his voice low and sultry, “Where’s your sense of adventure, John?”

“I’ll show you adventurous when we get home.”

Sherlock sucks John’s earlobe into his mouth, pulling off with a graze of teeth. “Wait two minutes. Then find me.”

He pulls out of John’s embrace and turns to leave the dance floor, walking in the direction of the loos. He stops and throws a smirk over his shoulder at John and disappears behind the door marked “gents”.

John gives a growl, half exasperation and half arousal, and looks at his watch. The git wants adventurous, he’s going to get it. Two minutes.

+++++++++++

 

Precisely on time, John stalks his way to the men’s room, opening the door and stepping in quickly. There’s one stall inside, and except for Sherlock, the room is thankfully empty. John flips the lock, and prowls towards his lover. Sherlock is leaning against the stall door, his pale eyes gone dark with want, tracking John’s every move. He is trying to look nonchalant, but he is breathing heavily, his hands clenching at his sides. John saunters up to Sherlock and reaches up with both hands to grab him by the nape and forcefully pull his head down, capturing Sherlock’s mouth in a bruising kiss. Sherlock responds immediately, sucking on John’s tongue as it presses into his mouth. The kiss turns hot and wet, soft smacking sounds and moans filling the room.

John breaks away to kiss down Sherlock’s jaw, quick swirls of his tongue as he moves towards his ear. “This is what you wanted, yeah? What else did you have in that beautiful mind of yours?”

They are both panting, Sherlock’s breath hot as he leans down to lick a long wet stripe up the side of John’s neck. He winds his hands around John’s waist to grab his arse, and shifts his hips to bring their erections together. Both men groan in tandem, and John gives a shallow roll of his hips, desperate for more friction. Sherlock trails his tongue along John’s jaw towards his ear, giving little nips then twirling his tongue around the lobe.  

“Right pocket,” Sherlock purrs, that baritone dripping pure sex.

John reaches his left hand down between their bodies and fumbles in Sherlock’s right front pocket. He gives a wicked grin when he feels the twin packets nestled there.

“Oh, you’re a bad man.”

John leans back in, capturing Sherlock’s mouth, taking his full bottom lip between both of his own, and biting down. Sherlock gasps, and John breaks away to press sloppy kisses down his neck, sucking hard at the spot just under his jawline.

“John, oh, god.”

Sherlock is arching his hips upwards in tiny thrusts, each one like molten lava straight from John’s groin to every inch of his body. Sherlock wedges his hand between their bodies to run the back down John’s length where it is pressed against the zipper of his jeans. John sighs, biting gently at the porcelain skin under his lips. Sherlock now gets two hands between their bodies, and begins working at John’s flies, wriggling his fingers inside to grasp John’s cock, already stiff and leaking.

“Christ, Sherlock.”

Sherlock pulls his head back, and with a smirk, gracefully lowers to his knees. Just the sight of Sherlock on his knees on the dirty floor in front of him is enough to amp his arousal to fever pitch levels. Sherlock pulls John’s jeans down to his thighs, then leans forward to mouth at his length through the thin covering of his pants. He laves his tongue over the head until the fabric is soaked with saliva, then leans back on his heels and looks up at John through hooded eyes.

“Look at you, you beautiful creature. That’s it baby, your mouth...fuck yes, Sherlock,” John breathes as Sherlock wrangles his pants down and closes his lips around John’s cock, pulling him into his mouth.

Sherlock presses further down, taking as much of John as he can, before pulling back slightly. He hollows his cheeks and sucks, his tongue adding a swirl at the tip with each bob of his head. John cards both hand through Sherlock’s curls, pulling tight. Sherlock gives a low moan around his cock, and the vibration reverberates through John’s body, heightening the tightness in his bollocks. He glances down at Sherlock, the sight of that beautiful mouth around him almost too much.

John reaches down and caresses Sherlock’s lips where they are stretched around his length. “Jesus, you're amazing.”

Sherlock moans again, and reaches both hands back to grasp at John’s arse, pulling him farther into his mouth. John can tell what Sherlock wants, so he thrusts his hips gently into that willing wet heat, using Sherlock’s hair as a steadying point, gripping and pulling hard.

“Yeah, fuck, yes, you’re brilliant, look at you. You love this, You love my cock don’t you?”

John is babbling, but he really doesn’t care, streams of obscenities and praise falling from his lips. He knows that Sherlock loves it rough sometimes, loves to be taken and used for John’s pleasure. It’s a game they play, one they both win. It seems that this time, Sherlock has upped the stakes, playing in a public place. But John has to admit, the danger of being caught is a heady thing, and is working him up so much he may not make it to the main attraction if Sherlock doesn’t stop right now.

As if reading his mind, or maybe his body, Sherlock pulls off with one last delicious maneuver of his tongue and looks up at John through hooded eyes. He is breathing hard, his hair a mess, lips red and shiny with saliva, and John thinks he is the most glorious thing he has ever laid eyes on.

“John. God, I need you. Fuck me, please. Now, John.” The hoarseness of his voice almost throws John over the edge right then and there.

John pulls Sherlock up by the shoulder and slams their mouths together. He reaches into Sherlock’s pocket and pulls out the lube packet and the condom, then works on getting Sherlock’s flies undone. He snakes his hand inside Sherlock’s pants to find him gloriously hard, the tip already leaking pre-come.

“Johhnn, yes,” Sherlock whines, throwing his head back against the stall door.

John licks up that exposed neck and then spins him around, slamming him hard against the door. Sherlock doesn’t seem to mind, he is grabbing at the top of the door, and wiggling his arse in unmistakable invitation. John pulls Sherlock’s trousers and pants down to his knees, then opens the lube packet squeezing a fair amount onto his fingers. He presses his slick fingers to the cleft of Sherlock’s arse, lightly circling his puckered entrance, then presses one finger inside. Sherlock groans, pushing back on John’s finger where it is buried inside him.

“More.”

“Bloody eager tonight.”

John slips a second finger beside the first, working him open. Sherlock’s body shudders, and he lifts one hand from the door, sliding it down his body to grasp his cock, where it is pressed against his belly.

John stops his movements. “Hands on the door. No touching, Sherlock. You’ll come with my cock inside you, not before.”

“Hurry up, then,” Sherlock is going for forceful, but his voice cracks as John resumes his ministrations.

John slips in a third digit, and twists his wrist slightly, and at Sherlock’s cry he knows he’s found it. He looks down to where his fingers are moving in and out of Sherlock’s slick hole and lets out a groan at the sight. He suddenly needs to be inside that tight chamber right now. John withdraws his fingers and opens the second packet, rolling the condom on and slicking himself up with a firm tug. John lines himself up and slowly presses into Sherlock’s slick entrance.

“Oh fuck, Sherlock, yes, you feel incredible.”

“Johhn.”

John rolls his hips, shallow thrusts, that are nowhere near enough but he can’t help tease his lover a bit. Sherlock pushes back, bending slightly at the waist, and impales himself on John’s length, causing them both to cry out. John pulls back slightly, then pushes back in, adding a flick of his hips.

“John, harder. Fuck me harder. Please…”

John grabs Sherlock’s hips and pulls him back against him as he pushes his hips forward. Sherlock moans and presses against the stall for leverage, moving his body in time with John’s thrusts.

“Oh, Christ, Sherlock. Yes. You greedy, perfect thing, fucking take it.”

“John, yes, oh fuck,” Sherlock keens, reaching back with one hand to grab at John’s arse in an attempt to pull him in deeper. “Harder!”

John grabs Sherlock’s hips, his fingers digging into the flesh so hard, there are sure to be bruises later, and snaps his hips brutally, pounding into Sherlock’s body. He can feel his orgasm approaching, that delicious feeling is building low in his belly, but he wants Sherlock to come first.

“John, I can’t...I’m so close, please,” Sherlock sobs

John snakes the hand still slick with lube around Sherlock’s body, and grabs his cock, moving his hand in time with his thrusts.

“You’re gorgeous, come for me. You’re so close, baby, I can feel it, let go. Come now.”

Sherlock throws his head back, his spine bowing as his release takes him, spilling through John’s fingers, and onto the dirty floor below. Something about the filthiness of it, of watching Sherlock’s semen coat part of the stall and the floor sets him over the edge, and he is coming hard, slamming into Sherlock’s body, still quivering with aftershocks from his own orgasm.

“Yes, Sherlock, fuck, yes, yes!”

John rests his head against Sherlock’s shoulder, pressing tiny kisses through the fabric, as he catches his breath. Sherlock is leaning on his forearms on the stall door, thighs quivering with the effort of holding himself up. John pulls out and disposes of the condom, then washes up in the sink and redresses. When he turns back around Sherlock is leaning on the door, buttoning his own trousers, looking at him with a smug, satisfied smile.

“That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done,” John says, a smile playing on his features.

“And you invaded Afghanistan.”

They both chuckle at the shared memory, that first night so long ago now. That night when John knew this madman had changed his life forever. He would have never guessed that night that they would end up here, together, committing lewd acts in a public men’s room, but after all they'd been through, he wouldn’t have it any other way.  

A loud bang on the door startles him out of his reverie. “C’mon. Home.” John gives Sherlock a quick kiss, just a tender slide of lips. “I love you, Sherlock Watson-Holmes, you crazy bastard.”

Sherlock lifts his hands to John’s face, caressing his jaw, his eyes warm and tender in the overhead light. “And I you, John Watson-Holmes. Now. Open that door and prepare to run, because I fear the manager is probably waiting to have us both arrested. Follow my lead?”

“Always, Sherlock. Always.”

 

 


End file.
